Siblings, Secrets, and Suspicion
by thenerdnextdoor
Summary: Sam has the fortune of worrying about her brother's tendency to be a bully's target, while juggling two jobs in order to stay afloat in the sea of their parents' disinterest. Jenko - or is it Brad? - has the fortune of meeting her the night of his house party and basically falling head over heels, while struggling with whether revealing the truth to her is best for all of them.
1. Dolled Up

**I know I have other stories to attend to - especially my poor, neglected LOTR story - but this has been in my head since I fucking watched the first film and I really need to get it out to make room for other things.**

**Cast includes: Emma Stone as Sam; Jennifer Lawrence as Ashley; and all the actors in the film as their characters, obviously.**

**DISCLAIMER: As always, I own nothing, and now I'm sad.**

**Chapter 1 – Dolled Up**

I managed to sweet-talk my way into getting let out of work three hours early tonight, just to make sure I'm around if my brother decides high school parties aren't as cool as they're made out to be on television. I know that he's less vulnerable being male, and he's 18 years old, and he's not an idiot like the majority of his peers, but the kid is a blatantly obvious nerd and suffers the traumas of unpopularity, leaving him with the biggest metaphorical bull's-eye plastered on his person, and nothing goes well for bullies' targets at a high school party. I'd considered changing into more practical clothes in the likely event that I'd need to go pick him and his two geek friends up, but figured staying in the short, figure-hugging dress and high heels would prove more effective, and perhaps make them seem less like science lovers and more like kids who are in with older girls.

I remember high school – after all, it was only six years ago – and I remember being ditched by guys in favour of older girls; they were more experienced, exotic, had their own place, and, perhaps more importantly, they could legally buy drink. Add those factors to the tight, sapphire dress clinging to my slim figure, the high heels that enhance the length of my pale legs, the way my deep, red hair falls in curls to my chest, the smoky eye make-up that makes my eyes pop, and the self-confidence that stems from the acceptance that I'm not actually ugly, I know that my brother and his friends would instantly be held in higher esteem because they had connections to a better world: the world of someone over the age of 21.

However tempting it is to go to the party and enable their promotion in the high school's hierarchy without my presence being requested, I tell myself to let my brother go out and experience the teenager's life with his friends, because it sure as hell speeds past you. Take me, for example – I had lived the fortunate life of mild popularity with my best friend, Ashley, and participated in the typical life of a teenage girl, attending all the parties, consuming all the alcohol, flirting with all the guys, ignoring the importance of our education, and now here I am, stuck in my parent's house looking after my brother without their help, working two jobs to bring in enough money for us to live, and without any hope of a luxurious future. Ashley would go out of her way to ensure that my lack of love life was included in that list, but I find it irrelevant and unimportant. Who needs a stable, happy relationship when you can go into both jobs and be harassed by horny men?

The click and squeak of the front door opening snaps me from my thoughts and has my head whipping round so fast my neck throbs in pain. I was hoping to see my brother cross the threshold, but I'm instead met with Ashley stomping in, wearing a tight, black dress that enhances her generous chest and curves, her dark-brown hair pulled up into a loose, high ponytail, holding her heels in her hands, with a face of pure misery. My own face reflects hers as I come to the realisation that I have to stay in this ridiculous get-up for a while yet, and I slump back into the sofa I'm curled up on.

She lingers in the doorway of the living room, standing across from me with her depressing aura, the television completely ignored to the right of her. "Can we just cut Jerry's throat and be fucking done with that slimy shithead?" she deadpans.

I wince for her, knowing what it's like to deal with our manager when your best friend and backup isn't present. "I'm really sorry, Ash; I just couldn't risk being unavailable tonight."

She drops her heels onto the floor and trudges over to sit next to me, lifting her knees up to her chin. "Did you have a date or something?" she asks, quirking an eyebrow doubtfully – as much as she longs for it, she knows it's the least likely thing to happen.

We had been given tasks to do at opposite sides of the venue that evening, so I hadn't managed to tell her all about tonight. "Funny," I reply blandly. "No, Zack and his friends went to a party tonight."

Ashley stares at me. "You're one to talk about funny."

"I'm serious."

"Zack went to a party?" she asks for confirmation.

"And Delroy and Roman, too," I nod, making her jaw drop and her eyebrows crease in bewilderment and disbelief. "They went to a house party."

"How the hell did they get invited?" she asks incredulously. "And what the hell made them want to go?"

I shrug, shaking my head. "He said that they met some new kid called Brad or something and he's now a friend of theirs."

"Okay, first off, Brad is _totally _not a geek's name, and, secondly, _they_ made a new friend? Just like that?"

I smirk at her flabbergasted expression. "Apparently."

"I'm sorry, but that is _extremely_ hard to believe."

"Oh, I agree whole-heartedly, and I'm very suspicious of this Brad dude. If anything happens to them tonight, his ass is getting beat into next year."

"I volunteer to provide assistance," she replies, nodding. "Are they drinking?"

I sigh, rubbing my face while remembering I still have make-up on. "I really don't know. He said they probably wouldn't because it's not their thing, but it's a fucking high school party – if they don't get caught up in the excitement, they'll have it forced down their throat."

"And they've never drank before so it'll probably go straight to their heads," Ashley added, frowning a little.

I groan, dropping my head into my hands. "I shouldn't have let him go," I mumble against my skin.

There's a familiar, sharp pain in my shoulder and I know without looking that Ashley just slapped me. "Sammy, you really need to stop beating yourself up whenever Zack lives a mistake of the teenage life. Everyone goes through it, and you're not protecting him by restricting him from having the same experience, you're keeping him from learning."

"Doing that could protect him from alcohol poisoning or drug overdose or drink driving accidents or teenage pregnancy," I point out, now holding my chin so I can look over at her.

She shrugs, abandoning her reverence in favour of humour. "It's all part of the super-fun roller coaster of high school drama."

I smirk at her. "I guess they are all vital aspects to a young adult's life."

"Exactly!" she grins, slapping her hand against the leather of the sofa. "I knew you'd come round."

My smirk falters when I hear incomprehensible shouting coming from outside the house, and my bewildered gaze meets Ashley's. "That sounds like drunk teenagers," she says slowly.

Knocks start raining down on my front door and I hurry over as best as I can in my heels, opening it up to see Delroy and Roman grinning stupidly at me. "Good evening, fair maiden!" Delroy shouts. "We have come to seek respite in your humble abode until dawn's light touches the horizon!" Roman just giggles next to him. Their clothes are ruffled and stained, and their hairdos are equally chaotic. They can barely focus their eyes on my face, and they're lacking one member of their group.

"Where's Zack?" I snap, grabbing Delroy's collar. Panic is welling exponentially in my chest, tightening my throat.

"His mighty steed brings him home!"

"You're not gonna get a coherent sentence out of him, Sam," Ashley says from the living room doorway.

"God damnit, you guys," I mutter irritably. I was expecting them to have had a sip of alcohol and resent the taste, but obviously there's more teenager in them than I thought. "Get up into Zack's room and the spare room. I'll let your mothers know where you are, and I won't tell them what state you're in."

"You are kind as you are beautiful, darling!" Delroy replies, sweeping his arm out in a clumsy bow.

"Just get inside before you hurt yourself."

With the two idiots out the way, I step out onto the porch and strain to spot a glimpse of my little brother on the street. It's dark and quiet, and the panic swells again. Then I see it: a tall figure with a scrawny boy over his shoulder, waving his arms around as if composing. The figure has his head down, presumably focusing on the ground to ensure that he's not going to fall flat on his face, as he walks up my driveway, bringing Zack closer.

"- and no one can defeat the legendary Zack and his mighty steed!" my brother proclaims. "Don't worry, Brad, I'll beat Physics class up if it threatens you."

"Jesus Christ," I mutter disbelievingly – trust me, this is indescribably weird for me to see.

This Brad guy – who looks incredibly well-built for a kid his age – lifts his head at the sound of my voice and stops dead, staring at me like a deer in headlights. I find myself rather caught off guard as well; however, I'm banishing sudden thoughts of how attractive he is as soon as they plague my mind. "Woah," he says in a deep voice, "There is no way in hell you're this geek's mom." I have never been more conscious of how revealing my clothes are until this point, not even when faced with a building of middle-aged men looking for a candidate for their affair.

"I'm his sister, Sam," I correct, reaching out to steady Zack as his new friend puts him on his feet again. My brother seems to have been thrown completely by the change of angle and swings his gaze around blindly, struggling to make sense of what he's seeing. I quickly check him over for injuries and sigh in relief when I find nothing but alcohol stains, dodging his now-flailing arms. Incoherent mumbles spill from his lips and a great feeling of discomfort crashes into me with the knowledge that he is absolutely wasted.

When my brother's body stumbles out the way, I watch Brad's eyes give me a once-over before rising to meet my own again, his Adam's apple bobbing on his thick neck. Then his brows pull together. "You're Sam?"

"Yeah."

"I thought you were a dude," he mutters. "They kept calling you 'he'."

I clear my throat at the sudden awkward subject, but – thank the _Lord_ and all that is holy – Ashley takes it upon herself to divulge this embarrassing information for me. "If they thought of her as a girl, Zack's friends wouldn't be able to talk to her without pissing their pants."

I grit my teeth in frustration. "Thanks for that, Ashley."

"I got your back," she says, reaching an arm out to grab Zack and pull him into the house ungracefully. "I'll leave you two to talk," she whispers suggestively to me, winking as she climbs the stairs with my brother stumbling behind her.

Rubbing my forehead tiredly, I turn back to the young man – who does _not_ look like he's in high school – and brace myself against the doorframe. "So, you're the new friend," I state, looking over his tight grey shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, hugging a muscular torso and big arms. Big arms, which I notice, end in bruised and cut hands. "You don't seem like the type of guy to befriend nerds."

He frowns in confusion, his plump lips assuming a slight pout. "What do you mean?"

"You've been fighting," I state, "And you obviously frequent a gym. Shouldn't you be one of the popular kids?"

His face fills with something akin to pleasant surprise, relief, and gratitude. "That's what I keep thinking, but high school's weird these days, you know?"

Now I frown. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

He falters. "Uh, well, I was, uh, home schooled, most of my life, because my parents had bad.. bad times in high school, so that's, uh, that's really all I've known about it."

Rolling my eyes at the lie, I push myself off the doorframe and take a hold off the handle. "Do you need to stay here tonight? And get your hands bandaged or something?"

He lifts his hands and inspects his damaged knuckles as if he's only just noticed them. "Oh, uh, thank you, that's incredibly tempting, but I should go back – my parents are probably shouting at my brother and he'll shit himself if I'm not there to hold his hand."

I nod, refusing to show amusement. "Okay." As he turns to leave, I stop him with what I hope is an intimidating glare, pointing a threatening finger at his face. "But you should know that I don't trust you. I don't know why or how you're friends with my brother and the other two, but if you hurt them, I swear to God you'll be going home to your parents in pieces. Got it?"

He swallows again, and I allow myself to believe that he's actually intimidated by me, even though he's about a head taller. "Yeah," he says, his voice suddenly rough. "It was _really_ great meeting you."

I hold his gaze for a few more seconds, wondering if either of us know what to do with this tense silence, before closing the door in his face and solving the problem. When I turn around, Ashley is standing on the stairs behind me, smirking. "What?" I groan.

"That Brad guy is _hot_.

"Ashley, he's like six years younger than us."

She quirks an eyebrow. "Age is just a number."

I stare at her blankly for a moment. When words finally come again, I'm shaking my head and moving towards her. "Not when the guy's in fucking high school, Ash. Sorry. Wait a few years and then you can jump him."

"Me?" she laughs, "I was thinking _you_ could take that out for a ride."

Now I quirk an eyebrow. "Uh-huh, sure, I'll get right on that immoral act." When I slide past her and continue up the stairs, she descends the rest to the ground floor. "You can sleep on the couch; you know the drill. I'm going to check on Zack and then get out of this ridiculous outfit."

"At least he saw you all dolled up, huh? He certainly enjoyed it."

"I'm going to shove a fucking chainsaw down your throat," I growl, receiving only a hearty laugh in reply.


	2. Greased Up

**Finished a second chapter for this without making any progress with my other stories. Clearly have my priorities straight..**

**By the way, I want to thank you all for actually looking in this section. I know it's been pretty dead since the movie came out, so I thought I'd give it a wee kick to bring it back to life; however, that can only really work if people are still interested enough to look for a new story, so thank you, guys!**

**CAST: Emma Stone (redhead) as Sam; Jennifer Lawrence (brunette) as Ashley.**

**DISCLAIMER: Don't own nuffin'.**

**Chapter 2 – Greased Up**

I have to use my elbow to open the front door, my oil-stained hands preoccupied with balancing five pizza boxes in front of my face while holding my leather jacket and car keys. I was originally planning on actually cooking dinner for once, but I'd had a shit day at work that involved my manager staring and groping at my shorts-clad ass while I bent over car engines, so I decided pizza would have to do. I'm telling myself I bought five boxes because I expected Zack's friends to be here, but the thought of sharing it all actually disappoints me.

"Hey, Zack!" I shout down the basement stairs – he's kind of made it into a den for the three of them, so they're always in there. "I brought pizza!"

As I bring the boxes into the kitchen to put them on the table, I hear several sets of footsteps running up the stairs. You'd think they were toddlers, behaving like that, or elephants, making as much noise as that. However, when I turn to look at them, I notice one with a substantially larger mass than the rest of them, so all the noise probably came from him.

"You're so dirty," is what first comes out of his mouth. Zack, Delroy, and Roman all turn their heads to look at him, staring wordlessly as he realises what he's done and stumbles over his words in an attempt to backtrack.

I pick up a pizza box and start making my way towards the living room. "Let me know when your vocabulary reboots itself and you're able to form structured, coherent sentences again," I call over my shoulder, uninterested.

Or at least trying to _seem_ uninterested. There is no doubt in my mind that Brad is an incredibly attractive male – from his impressive muscles, to the rare, green-brown eyes he sports, to the tempting, plump lips, to the choppy, brown hair, to the way his jaw defines itself against his skin when it clenches, he is your typical hot, popular, jock type, and he is completely aware of how good he looks. However, he is in Zack's year, which means he's most likely 18 years old, which is six years younger than I am, and therefore it is repulsive for me to think of him in such a way. I _should_ be thinking that he is going to turn out to be a very attractive young adult, once he's grown out of his teenager looks, but that's proving to be very difficult when he looks like he's got to that stage already. In fact, he looks older than I do.

Fucking weird-ass teenager.

I slump onto the sofa and reach for the remote lying two cushions down, tucking my bare legs up underneath me. When I look up, Brad's standing in the doorway, rubbing his hands together as if he's nervous – I wouldn't have expected he was capable of feeling like that, given how arrogant he is, so it's enough to catch my attention for a moment.

"Uh, my vocabulary rebooted," he jokes lamely. I quirk an eyebrow at him. "Do you mind if I sit with you?"

I stare at him. "Your Zack's friend, go sit with him," I say slowly, confused. The rest of the guys are polite but they would never willingly sit alone with me; I know from experience that it's weird being left alone with a friend's older sibling, especially one with this much of an age difference.

"Yeah, they said they were gonna do some work for a class I'm not in," he shrugs. "That stuff hurts my brain," he chuckles weakly.

"I bet it does."

He doesn't seem offended. Instead, the corner of his plump lips twitches and lifts up into a smirk. "Plus, you look like you need some company."

So our parents are never around and I don't have much to talk about with my brother because he's miles smarter than I am, so the only person I can call a friend isn't here because she's working her second job, that doesn't mean that I'm lonely. I'm not lonely. I love being by myself, really. "I don't need anything from you, Brad. I'm fine by myself, thanks."

He drops the smirk, shrugging again with a heavy sigh. "Alright, if you insist." He's acting reluctant, but he's not exactly slow when he comes over and sits down where the remote previously was, swinging an arm over the back of the sofa. "What are we watching?"

"Me busting your balls if you don't fuck off," I reply seriously.

"I don't really enjoy that show. Have you seen the one where I seduce you?"

My lips part and my eyes widen so much it hurts. I'm stunned, and pissed off. "You better be joking or I swear-"

"Wow, you always go straight to threatening people, don't you?" he asks, looking at me with amused curiosity.

Oh hell no. "This isn't a fucking therapy session; this is me trying to eat pizza and watch television after a twelve-hour shift. So if you're gonna sit there and make me feel even worse, then you can get to fuck."

He frowns, as if he's actually concerned. "Twelve hours? Where the fuck do you work?"

"Do the oil stains and logos not tell you enough?" I ask, picking up the material of my tank top where the logo of my second job is stitched in.

"You work at a car garage?"

"Yeah, I clean and fix anything that comes up the ramp, and sometimes I do odd jobs for my boss like I did tonight; that's why I'm an hour later than usual." Okay, I need to stop talking now.

"That's really ho-" At the glare I shoot him, he stops himself quickly. "That's really impressive, I was saying."

I just roll my eyes. "So, do _you_ have a job?"

"Yeah, actually, I do, and it's very respectable too," he says, giving me a pointed, smug look.

"Oh, yeah? What is it?"

"I'm in the-"

I frown at his sudden pause. "You're in the what?"

"Uh, I'm in the, uh," he drops his gaze to scowl at the floor, biting his bottom lip in what appears to be frustration. His large hand comes up to rub the back of his neck as he glances up at me briefly, and I wonder at the look of reluctance and longing on his face.

"Are you lyi-"

"I'm in the dancing industry," he blurts, straightening up.

It's enough to make me momentarily speechless. I look over his body for the umpteenth time, taking into account his thick arms and chest – he looks far too bulky to be a dancer. "Sure you are," I nod sarcastically, irritated that he keeps lying to me.

He almost looks pained. "No, I'm actually really good at dancing." When I just stare at him, he tries a new approach. "Maybe I could show you sometime?"

It's tempting. Man, is it tempting, but this guy is hiding something from me, and my brother and his friends too, and I've gotten the impression it's something really quite serious. Plus, I'm getting tired of listening to his bullshit stories. "Not gonna happen, buddy. Not only are you too young, you're also not what I need right now."

He looks confused for a split-second before he's once more frustrated. "How old are you?"

"I'm 24."

His jaw clenches, and my eyes are drawn to the muscle pushing against the skin of his cheek. "What if I was older?" he asks slowly.

I frown at his stupidity. "First off, you're not older, and you can't suddenly become older, so your question is completely pointless. And, secondly, you're not someone I'd go for." After giving him a tight-lipped smile, I finally open my pizza box and pick up the first slice, feeling his eyes burning into the side of my head.

"What kind of guy would you go for?" he asks.

"I wouldn't go for any kind of guy," I shrug. I look up at his silence, and can't help the grin that spreads across my face when I see how utterly flabbergasted and disappointed he is.

When I let out a small chuckle, he snaps out of it. "Why the hell did you let me get my hopes up if you're a fucking lesbian? You should've broken it to me at the start!"

I tilt my head to the side. "If straight people don't have to include their sexual preference in their little 'Nice to meet you' speech, why should homosexuals?"

His eyes nearly fall out of his head. "So you _are_ a lesbian?" he exclaims.

This time I laugh, and I laugh for quite a while too. "You're a fucking moron!"

"What's so funny?"

"Your face, oh my God, it's fucking priceless!"

"Will you please explain yourself?"

"Give me a minute," I tell him, still laughing. When I remember his face from moments before it all starts up again, and I can practically feel the hatred rolling off him.

"You're such a dick."

"Oh, I know I am. But at least I'm not thick as shit."

"Seriously?"

"Your face!"

"Stop fucking laughing and tell me what's going on," he demands seriously.

I calm myself down, wiping at nonexistent tears, letting out the occasional chuckle. "I'm not a lesbian you fucking idiot."

His brows pull together fiercely, his lips pouting. "Then why won't you go for any kind of guy?"

"Maybe because I'm too busy to invest in any kind of relationship right now."

"How are you too busy?" he challenges. "You went out the night of my party, didn't you? I mean, you were all dressed up and shit."

I roll my eyes. "Like I enjoy dressing like that," I scoff. "No, that's how I have to dress for my other job."

"You work two jobs?"

"I need a stable income, don't I? And it's not like I have anything else to do," I shrug.

"First of all: you could be having a relationship," he jokes, and, may I add, has the audacity to wink suggestively at me, "Secondly: why doesn't Zack just get a job?"

Picking up my third slice of pizza, I frown and shake my head. "No. He's got his studies to concentrate on. I'm not gonna get in the way of his education."

"But you obviously don't like these jobs," he points out.

"Doesn't matter," I say like it's obvious, and, to me, it is. "Zack's gonna go far, I can tell. He comes first."

I'm finishing off the slice, and all I can think about is how Brad is staring straight at me, without any intention of looking away soon. I can't even taste the pizza, he's distracting me that much. Why have I fucking engaged in so much conversation with him? Why didn't I just take my pizza and go upstairs to get rid of him? Why is he six years younger and so fucking arrogant? Why the fuck am I thinking about _him_ more than my fucking _pizza_? That's unnatural in itself, never mind the age difference.

This has to stop.

"Okay, now that you know me as much as my little brother's friend should know me, you can go downstairs to him now and stop bothering me. I'm going to watch the TV in peace now, okay?"

Brad frowns at me. "Seriously?"

I glare at him. "Yes. Fuck off, now."

"You need to work on your manners, man," he says, but he gets up and starts walking out.

"This is my house, kid." I have to force the last word out, because he really does look at least my age, but it's worth the effort.

His back tenses and he glances over his shoulder at me. "Don't call me kid," he says quietly, and it's so serious that I actually listen to him.

"Whatever."

And then he's gone.

Sighing, I'm just about to turn the television on when a voice from the open window makes me shit myself. "Nice flirting, Sammy."

"Go fuck yourself, Ash. And would you _please_ stop calling me that?" I retort, picking up another slice of pizza. When she literally climbs through the window, I stare at her incredulously. "What the fuck are you doing, man? There _is_ a door, you know."

"Doors are boring," she shrugs, jumping onto the sofa. "I'm living life on the edge."

"Sure you are."

"No, I'm serious, Sam."

"Oh, really? You want to talk about something serious? Let me get ready." I hold up the remote and turn the television on, readying myself to block her out.

"You're gonna want to hear about this."

"Of course I will," I mumble, entranced by whatever's on the screen.

"I'm dating an older man."

"Awesome."

"Older as in _older_."

"So you bypass the old 'Daddy' thing in bed and go straight to 'Granddaddy' then? How kinky of you."

"He's in his thirty's."

I mute the television and turn to her. "Please tell me it's not late thirty's."

She smirks. "No, not that old. He's thirty-two."

"That's not so bad then. Is he nice? Is he good to you?"

She tilts her head at me. "That's an eight-year difference," she says.

I quirk an eyebrow. "Yeah, that's nice, Ashley, but is he good for you?"

"So it's alright for me to date someone with an eight-year age gap?" she asks, as if establishing a point.

"Uh-huh," I say slowly, uncertain of where she's taking this.

"So, by that logic, it's alright for you to date Brad!" she grins.

I let out a groan that's bordering a pretty manly scream, collapsing against the sofa. "No, Ash, he's in high school, that's just wrong!"

"He's not gonna be at the end of the year – you haven't thought your counter argument through very well, have you?"

"Fuck yourself," I grunt. "With a chainsaw."

"God damn, Sammy, what's your obsession with me and a chainsaw?" she laughs in confusion. I just glare at her. "Listen, age obviously isn't your issue. So what is it that's stopping you from jumping that hunky piece of ass?"

"Maybe the fact that he's my little brother's friend, or he still has to ask someone if he's allowed to go to the bathroom, or he's not a full-fledged adult, or he's a fucking dickhead?" I rattle off.

She frowns. "How is he a dickhead?"

"He's too arrogant and _way_ to nosey."

She laughs. "He's trying to get to know you."

"You weren't there."

"You're just coming up with excuses to push him away; you're making him sound worse than he is so you don't give in to the temptations," she sighs.

She's probably right. "You're delusional."

"Sure I am." She steals a slice of pizza and makes herself comfortable, settling into the cushions on the sofa. She even kicks her feet up onto the coffee table.

"I'm gonna chainsaw your legs like you're a fucking tree," I tell her. She scoffs unattractively and then turns her attention to the television.


	3. Dressed Down

**Bonjourno readers! Welcome to the third installment of this story, and thank you very much for being here. As always, reviews are very much welcomed.**

**WARNING: This has been typed up on my phone so if there are any errors, I blame it on the small keys and my thick fingertips:)**

**CAST: Emma Stone (redhead) as Sam; Jennifer Lawrence (brunette) as Ashley.**

**DISCLAIMER: All I own here are my OCs and their shit - anything you recognise does not belong to me.**

**Chapter 3 - Dressed Down**

"How come you're off today?" Zack asks, looking up from his homework. He's sitting on the floor between the sofa amd coffee table, using the latter like a desk.

I drop my keys in the bowl next to the front door and kick my shoes off, trudging into the kitchen to put my shopping bags on the table. "Jerry's out of town for some business meeting," I call back to him, "He doesn't trust anyone else to run the place when he's gone."

"Why? Isn't it just like any other restaurant?"

I pause in my task of unpacking, inhaling deeply. Jerry's place is unique, and not just a simple restaurant, to say the least, but I've never divulged the specifics to Zack. Our parents are constantly away, and there's nothing they despise more than giving us money, so I took any job I could get to make up for their neglect. If I tell Zack what I really do at Jerry's, he'll insist that he can get a job too, but that would distract him from his studies, and I can't let that happen. He is such a bright kid, far more intelligent than I could ever be, and if he was to waste his time on a simple job, he could lose the life he deserves. My brother is made for the big leagues in science or math or something, not for a pissy job in a cafe or delivering papers.

"Sam?" he calls, confused by my lack of response.

"Yeah, Jerry's just weird like that," I reply, shaking myself back into the moment. "What are you doing, anyway?"

"Oh, um, I'm making up a timetable for tutoring Brad," he says.

God, that kid is exceptionally good at ensuring that he's always in my head even when he isn't here. "That's nice of you," I force out, aggressively crumpling the bag in my hands.

"Well, he's really struggling in Chemistry and Physics, and it's a good way for me to study as well," Zack goes on, oblivious to my annoyance.

"What is this timetable shaping up to look like? How often are you going to see him?"

"Almost every day," he replies easily. "But sometimes we'll do it at school; he doesn't seem to want to do it at his house at all."

Great, Brad has even more time to corrupt my brother now. "So does he hang out with you guys at school?"

"Yeah. He used to be with his brother all the time but he got popular and kind of left him without any friends."

I banish the sympathy I feel at that. "Shouldn't Brad be popular too? He seems like the type."

Zack lets out his dorky laugh, and I smile fondly. "Maybe back in your day he would've been. Popular kids are different now - smarter."

I walk to the doorway and cross my arms. "First of all, why do they still bully you if that's the case? Secondly, I'm not that old, so don't talk like that. Thirdly, Brad certainly acts like one of the popular k. ids: arrogant; obnoxious; douchey-"

"Brad's a cool guy," my brother interrupts, defending his friend. "He exaggerates those qualities sometimes for some reason, like he's trying to prove something, but when he's being himself, he's pretty cool. You should give him a chance."

I blink, surprised by his defense. Brad's obviously a good friend if Zack is willing to practically tell me off for him. But the guy still seems off yo me. "Don't avoid my question, little brother."

Zack shuffles uneasily, scratching his head with his pen. "What question?"

"If the popular kids value intelligence so much now, why aren't you in with them?"

He shrugs awkwardly. "They're still arrogant, I guess, and too concentrated on their image - we're too nerdy to fit in."

I frown. "Bullshit. They're jealous that you're smarter than them_and _that you couldn't give a shit about your 'image'. Trust me."

"Thanks, Sam," he says, but I can tell he doesn't believe me.

I'm about to walk away when I remember something he'd said. "Zack, what do you mean I should give Brad a chance?"

"I don't know," he shrugs again. "You could get on well with him if you got to know him. Plus he's the only one of my friends who can actually talk to you when they're sober."

"I don't see why I should get to know him when he's _your _friend," I huff.

"You need friends too, Sam."

I throw my hands up in frustration. "Oh my God, he's six years younger than me!"

Zack recoils slightly. "So am I and we get on fine."

I sigh, rubbing my face. I want to tell him it's different because Brad is very attractive and apparently flirty and that could lead me down a questionable path, but it's not something my naive, little brother should know about. He hasn't caught on yet, and I want to keep it that way.

"I'm fine. I have Ashley and you; that's all that I need to be happy," I tell him, smiling.

I return to the kitchen to continue my task, completely unprepared for his response. "You don't seem happy." I freeze, overwhelmed by uneasiness and guilt that I can't hide it from him. "I heard you laughing when Brad was with you the other night. You haven't laughed like that in a really long time."

U clench my eyes shut, shoulders drooping. I need to get him away from this subject - his arguments are strong, and I can just tell he has a list up his sleeve of moments that gave him cause for concern; he's been thinking about this a lot, allowing it to distract him. "Zack, you know what I'm like," I begin, struggling to keep my voice stress-free. Whenever something's bothering me, I eliminate the problem. If I really was unhappy, don't you think I'd be doing something about it?"

Suddenly there's a heavy knocking on the door, shattering the silence. I'm so tightly strung from the discussion that I actually jump at the sound. Zack emerges from the living room, staring at me like he can see the lies on my face. Then he opens the door and gives the unidentified visitor a tense smile. "Hey."

"Hey, man," Brad's voice replies. "I'm sorry for just showing up, but things at home are pretty shitty and you'd said you were alone tonight. I figured we could hang out."

Zack glances at me and I nod quickly, jumping at the chance for a distraction, even if it has come in the form of the bane of my life. "You shouldinvite the others too," I suggest.

Zack swallows, watching Brad's head as it peeks around the door so he can see me. "Shit, sorry, never mind. I'll see you tom-"

"No, Brad!" I exclaim, a little too eagerly. The boys just stare at me. "It's fine, really. Maybe you could get s head start with the tutoring."

Brad clenches his jaw and looks down. "Uh, nah, it's not like I really need it that much," he stumbles, refusing to look at either of us.

His words snap Zack from his stare and my brother frowns, opening his mouth to correct his new friend. I decide - for some unknown reason - to rescue Brad before more embarrassment befalls him. "Alright, then invite the others around as well. I'll get Ash round and we can have dinner at six."

Brad awkwardly comes into the house, glancing at me briefly. Zack just pins his stare on me again. "Think about what I said, Sam," he says, "Please."

I swallow, nod, and force a smile for Brad. "Have fun, guys."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

The porch overlooking our garden is made of a beautiful white wood, but the paint has been chipping away over the past few years, leaving a nasty brown to replace it. I haven't had the money to hire someone or the time to fix it myself, so it continues to deteriorate day by day, slowly growing duller. I lean against it, picking more of the paint off and catching flakes under my fingernails, while I nurse a bottle of beer in the other hand. The sun is starting to go down, and there's a light breeze playing with my open, blue shirt, exposing the white tank top underneath. On my legs are a pair of skinny, ripped jeans, and my hair is down and doing whatever it damn-well pleases in the breeze. It's a beautiful, serence moment, but Zack's right: I am unhappy.

"Your friend didn't come?"

I drop my gaze and inhale deeply, as if preparing myself. "She's on a date tonight."

Brad soon appears at my side, leaning against the railing as well. He's only wearing a plain, white t-shirt and boring, blue jeans, but he is still the best looking guy I've come across. He just stands there silently for a while, but it's deafening, and I'm painfully aware of how close he is. "Your brother's worried about you," he murmurs.

My gaze snaps to his face. "Did he tell you that, or is it obvious something's bothering him? Are his grades dropping? Is he not eating properly?"

"Woah, Sam, calm down," he tells me, looking down at me with a concerned frown. "He told me, okay?"

I sigh, relieved, and run my hand through my hair. "What did he say?"

"That he can see you're pretending to be happy."

"Oh, God," I groan, frustrated with myself.

"He's right, isn't he?"

"Would _you _be happy if you were doing two jobs which were equally time-consuming, demanding, and stressful?"

The corner of his lip twitches as he looks at me, obviously finding something amusing, but there's that look of reluctance and longing in his eyes again. My brows pull inwards, ever so slightly, and I stare hard at him, desperate to figure out what's going on behind those captivating green eyes of his. There is something he's not telling me, or Zack and the others, and I hate being in the dark. I want to trust him, for Zack's sake of course, but if he keeps this up then there will always be this barrier between us.

"What are you hiding?" I find myself asking, my voice surprisingly quiet.

He blinks, clenching his jaw, the muscles shifting under the skin on his face, and then he breaks our eye contact to look down at his hands. His fingers are massaging the area between the other thumb and pointer-finger, and I wonder what this little movement means.

"You know, I've been through that phase," he says, looking out over the garden now. "The phase of sacrificing your happiness for something you think is more important." He pauses, blinking, and I look at the way the setting sun reflects in his eyes, illuminating a golden-yellow speck near his left pupil. I couldn't interrupt him even if I tried; I am entranced, and right now I'm not even bothered by it. "Sometimes I wonderif I ever came out of that phase," he continues, with me hanging on his every word. "Maybe I did mature, or maybe I grew to believe tjat that _was _happiness. Either way, I remember being so miserable inside, and I was so desperate to change, but I couldn't."

My worries about his secret are forgotten. "Why not?"

His mouth twists into a grim smile. "I thought the risk was too big, the consequences too bad, that it just wouldn't be worth it." He shakes his head, looking down again. "Thinking about it now - even though a lot of good things came out of it - I know that my life could have been so much better if I didn't go through that phase."

And in that moment, Brad seems so experienced and mature that it feels downright impossible for him to be Zack's age, and I acknowledge a slight stirring in my chest. It isn't like he's been through a rough childhood and was forced to grow up before it was his time; it's like he's actually been alive as long as I have, maturing as he grew older. The sense of awe and comfort I felt at his speech is dissipating quickly, now that I'm back to second-guessing him. "That was pretty deep for a 17/18-year-old," I tell him, watching him carefully.

He lets out a small, humourless laugh. "Yeah," he mumbles, shaking his head again.

When he says nothing more, I sigh and push myself away from the railing. He turns quickly to look at me, frowning. I banish the thoughts of his good looks corrupting my mind, refusing to go down this road. "Look, Brad, I can tell you're a good-" I stop myself short of calling him kid again, noticing the grimace he wears in preparation for it, "-guy, but I can also tell that you're hiding something, and I can tell that it's important." I shrug at him, shaking my head. "I don't know what you're getting out of this - your friendship with my brother and the others, amdwhatever this is - and knowing that you're hiding something from me, from all of us... I just can't trust you."

His jaw clenches, his lips pursed, his eyes alight with anger. Then he nods, short, sharp and tense, and he turns back to the garden, rubbing at his hand again. When I turn to walk into the house, I almost miss him mutter something: "I'm sorry."

I pause, my fist gripping the door handle. "Me too," I reply, just as quietly, before leaving him outside.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

"This isn't exactly a romantic date location," I comment to Ashley as she slides into the passenger seat.

She shrugs, glancing back at the diner. "It could've been in a dumpster and I would have had the same amount of fun."

I blink, looking at her for a moment. "You really like him, don't you?"

"Yeah, I do," she nods, shrugging it off.

I look out at the road in front of us, unable to make myself happy for her. The reason why eludes me. "I'd like to meet this guy."

She smirks. "Not until you get with Brad."

I sigh heavily, rubbing my face with my hands. I can feel her watching me, waiting for another death threat. "It's not gonna happen, Ash," I tell her, my voice monotonous.

She's quiet for a moment. "Shit, you're serious about this, aren't you?"

I nod. "I can't trust him."

"Why not?"

"He's hiding something."

"Everyone has baggage, Sammy. Have you told him about what you really do at Jerry's?"

I frown at her. "Of course not. He doesn't need to know; it's none of his business."

"Maybe that's how he's approaching his secret."

My head falls back against the seat. "Yeah, maybe," I reply, unconvinced.

There's a lull in the conversation as I get lost in my thoughts, unaware of how long we sit there for. Eventually Ash clears her throat. "So, he saw you in casual clothes today, huh?"

I look at her slowly, wary. "Yeah?"

She smirks. "He just needs to see you sleeping and ill - if he's still as interested after that then you've definitely got a keeper."

I glare at her, refusing to show my amusement. "I'm-"

"Yeah, yeah," she sighs, waving dismissively. "This is the part where you threaten me with a chainsaw, I know. Have I ever told you how I love the way you switch things up all the time? It really keeps me on my toes."

"Go fuck yourself, Ash," I chuckle.

"With a chainsaw, right?" she grins.


End file.
